


Simply A Patient Wolf

by brevitas



Series: Learn to Howl [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Modern AU, NUFF SAID, Vampire AU, Werewolf AU, vampire!Enjolras, werewolf!Grantaire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-06
Updated: 2013-03-06
Packaged: 2017-12-04 11:11:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grantaire is a drunken werewolf who somehow got elected alpha of his pack. Enjolras is a centuries-old vampire who has seen hundreds of revolutions and wants to usher in one more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simply A Patient Wolf

"Come here, darling."

A pale hand emerges from the fog and beckons her closer, the glint of a smile catching in the shadows. The woman clutches a threadbare shawl to her shoulders and is scrawny with hunger but she dutifully shakes her head, looks behind her to where her sisters are gathered a few yards away. They're talking loudly and she's bolstered by their presence, smiles when she says, "Sorry, mister, I don't talk to strangers."

"Not even for some cash?" He flicks a hundred dollar bill out of his sleeve and pinches it between thumb and forefinger for her to see but she reaches for it without hesitation now, thinking about how many meals that could buy for her family.

He laughs as his hand vanishes, the sound carrying in the chill of the night and echoing against brick walls and she frowns, tugs her collar closer. "Sir?" She calls tentatively, taking a few steps forward, braving the darkness for the promise of payment. "I didn't mean to offend earlier."

He doesn't answer but she thinks she can see a figure further on down the alley and hurries to catch up, trips on something strewn across the cobblestones and lands hard on her knees. "Mister?" She says as she gets up, glancing fearfully behind her now, the light seeming much farther away. When she turns back around a man stands before her, tall and regal, garbed in a coat the color of blood and crowned with unruly golden hair. He smiles and goosebumps freckle her arms because there's something off about it, something sinister and feral.

"You scraped your knee," he remarks and she looks down on instinct; before she can ask how he could possibly see that in light as poor as this there is a hand at her throat and she's being lifted off her feet, the breath squeezed out of her. She flails against the grip and kicks wildly but he doesn't loosen his fingers and she can't seem to get at him, dark as it is. Her world narrows and she eventually blacks out but the man waits until she is entirely limp before he bends over and sets her down, propping her thoughtfully against the wall.

He starts when someone behind him says, "You've certainly become more dramatic since I last saw you," and sighs when he recognizes the voice, kneels at the side of the unconscious woman.

"It's theatrics," he replies calmly, sliding a blade from his boot and setting it against the inside of her wrist. He cuts her with a single caress and cups his hands beneath the wound, watching the blood pool into his palms. "Now when she reports to the police what occurred they will not think to look for me."

More than likely they will decide she's insane and discount the crime entirely, which definitely works in Enjolras' favor. He lifts his hands to his mouth and drinks, and the man to his left watches him with eyes that reflect like a mirror when a light crosses his face. "Strange that you use a knife," he remarks, and Enjolras ignores him, empties his hands and begins to lick them clean. "You have such fine teeth for that, after all."

Enjolras snorts as he replaces the dagger in the hidden sheath and rises, sucking the last of the blood off his fingers. He drops his hands when he's satisfied they're clean and says dryly, "Yes, Grantaire, because _biting_ someone is much less suspicious than cutting them."

Grantaire laughs but in the dark it sounds bitter, and he falls silent as he watches Enjolras clean up. He carefully licks the girl's wound before he wraps a clean white bandage around her wrist, the numbing proteins in his saliva serving to quickly stop the bleeding. Politely he rearranges the crumpled fabric of her skirt and then frowns at her when she shivers, her breath betraying the chill of the air.

He looks expectantly at Grantaire and when the man merely lifts an eyebrow nods pointedly at his jacket. "She's cold."

Grantaire scoffs, answers, "So am I," but after a long moment under Enjolras' glare peels it off all the same, handing over the featureless black sweatshirt. Enjolras takes it without thanks and Grantaire grumbles, "Most people at least have the courtesy to stare when they get me to strip." 

Enjolras pulls the coat over her head and on second thought tugs the hood up, tucking her hands into the pockets and sliding a few hundred bills between her fingers. He stands and deigns that she should be fine for the hour or two it will take for her to wake, or for someone to find her. She lives not two houses down from this alley and he can still hear her siblings talking, his heightened senses allowing him to check if any had noticed her disappearance (no one has).

He walks past Grantaire and steps onto the sidewalk, this part of town populated with only a handful of people. Grantaire falls into step somewhere along the way, looking out-of-place seeing as he's dressed in only a white wifebeater and jeans. "When did you come back to town?" He asks, and Enjolras knows what he's really asking, so he answers that instead.

"This morning. I was going to come see the pack tomorrow."

Grantaire hums, says casually, "They'll be happy to see you." The last time Enjolras had visited he'd won over all of Grantaire's packmates by his talk of reforms and revolutions and having legal rights and when Feuilly had picked up the vampire's scent that afternoon he'd been quick to spread the news. Grantaire had found him first only because he knew that Enjolras liked to hunt in the slums and gambled on him arriving hungry.

"Where are you staying tonight?" He asks, and Enjolras stops and faces him. His pupils are always blown out after feeding and Grantaire can see only a sliver of the blue irises, eclipsed by black.

"I hadn't thought about it."

"You could stay with us." Enjolras' mouth twitches into some semblance of a smile and Grantaire shrugs. "The house pretty much always smells like wet dog now but you'd be welcome."

"I'd like that." He clasps Grantaire's shoulder briefly, smiles when he gestures for the werewolf to lead the way. It's a bit of a hike but they pass the time spreading news, Enjolras mentioning, "A few people from my old coven are supposed to be joining me here in a few days time; when they arrive I'll find us somewhere else to room, lest we impose."

Grantaire smirks at that and says it would be no trouble at all, talking over Enjolras' protests. "You are like a brother to my pack," he says as they top the last hill before the manor, the rest of the walk laid out before them on flat ground via a trail of colorful marble stepping stones. "We could simply not tolerate kicking you out."

Enjolras is smiling when he thanks him and follows Grantaire over the front yard, the mansion looming before them. It is stately and illuminated by a dozen different outdoor lights and has many of its windows open, a cool breeze ruffling the curtains.

This sprawling house had belonged to Grantaire's father once but when he'd died a year and a half ago he'd passed it on to Grantaire out of lack of any other living heirs--Grantaire had immediately taken the posh residence and quite literally given it to the dogs. Technically he was the alpha of his pack because he provided the living quarters and, also thanks to his father (who had never approved of Grantaire in his entire life, and was no doubt rolling in his grave now), brought home the groceries when no one else could pay.

It has room enough for the pack of seven to comfortably live in and still has a few rooms left over that have been converted into what each one craved; an arts and crafts room for Feuilly, a library for Marius, a play den for Gavroche (and oftentimes Courfeyrac, who likes children's toys more than children do). They're a tight-knit group that the locals look on as "those strange fellows who come in for food and gossip" and regard with the sort of fondness one feels for a particularly scurvy stray--but they never cause trouble and they stay out of the way of tourists, so no one complains.

Grantaire opens the door and steps inside, wandering down the hallway before Enjolras loudly clears his throat behind him. He turns around and the vampire is standing on the threshold, looking irked, his arms folded across his chest. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"Oh." Grantaire blinks then laughs, gestures him to follow when he says, "Yeah, sorry, come on in."

They don't get many vampires in these parts and it has been over three years since Enjolras last visited, back when the house officially belonged to Grantaire's father. He'd been invited in back then of course but since the deeds had changed hands the house was again off-limits.

Enjolras wipes his boots clean and walks after him to the kitchen, where Grantaire has gone to the fridge and is getting out a cut of raw steak and a beer. He holds the steak in one hand and gnaws at it as Enjolras looks around, but it doesn't take him long to finish and by then Grantaire has eaten away nearly half of it and the juices are running down his forearm. 

Enjolras is happy he's eaten but even now it's hard not to lick his lips at the sight (and besides that there is a rumor that werewolf blood tastes especially delicious, and is almost intoxicating to vampires--Enjolras has never had cause to experiment for himself but he thinks about it now, wondering what sort of flavors a little nibble might give him).

"Where are the boys?" He asks instead, running his tongue absentmindedly along his fangs. They're typically larger and sharper than a human's incisors but when he gets hungry they become more threatening, and he can feel them enlarging now, bumping uncomfortably against his top lip. It's a helpful evolutionary trait so that he don't always look monstrous but at the same time it's an embarrassment when this happens and he can't hide that he's hungry.

Grantaire sniffs and takes another bite of steak, gesturing with his beer bottle at the back yard. It opens into the forest and this is where Grantaire takes his pack when they want to run, threading through the dense trunks like phantoms. Their howling is so ghastly some nights that the town council has posted official signs at the border that warn of wolves-- for the most part people respect them and keep out.

"Running," he explains, licking his chin. "Cour and Marius went out looking for you but everybody else was needed on patrol."

Enjolras nods, wishes Grantaire would wash his hands already (and his arms; Christ, he's a messy eater). "Has Marius talked you into expanding the library yet?" He asks and Grantaire produces a long-suffering groan.

"Yeah, that little asshole." He pops the last bite in his mouth and crosses to the sink, scrubbing his arms clean all the way up to the elbow. "It's gone into two more rooms now and we knocked down the walls last summer. I look like a fucking nerd."

Enjolras laughs and they go to see it and thankfully Grantaire hasn't noticed his engorged teeth, or has chosen not to say anything (which he really can't believe--Grantaire has no filter and would be insatiably curious why they were bigger if he'd known). The library is a lot larger and rather impressive now, comprised of tall oak shelves and hundreds of different titles, and there's a few plush chairs and a circular table arranged in one corner.

"You gonna talk to the pack when everyone gets back?" Grantaire's watching him from the doorway, slouched against the frame.

"Probably." He feels his teeth again and is relieved that they're getting smaller, is confident enough to smile. "Will you be joining us?"

Grantaire snorts, says, "Of course. You know we call ourselves Les Amis now off some romantic notion Marius had about learning French?" Enjolras shakes his head. "Yeah well apparently I'm not allowed to skip out on boring lectures anymore because I'm an Amis too."

But he's grinning and they both know he's lying about them being boring--he'd quizzed Enjolras for hours the first time they'd met, nearly a decade ago now, posed such interesting theories that a few times he'd stopped Enjolras on a dime. Their wits matched each other excellently, and Enjolras couldn't help wondering how fearsome Grantaire could be if he ever bothered to be sober (even falling-down drunk he was a surprisingly good speaker and still had the capacity to make references to old political authors and their teachings).

"Good." Enjolras picks up a promising novel on the modern America's governmental structure and glances over the cover, flipping it over in his hand. "It wouldn't be nearly as entertaining without you."

Grantaire grins before he can worry about whether that's a compliment or not and straightens when he hears the front door open and close, followed by Courfeyrac shouting, "Hey, Enj, I can smell you from here, you blood-sucking rat!" and Marius laughing.

"The people await, my lord Apollo," Grantaire says teasingly, and sweeps an arm back. 

Enjolras shakes his head when he replaces the book and slides past him, remarking from the hallway, "They'll want to hear the story of how you found me, you know," and then when he's nearly at the living room adding, "And don't call me that."

**Author's Note:**

> asdfghjkl I don't know what's happened to me I got left alone with a computer again and this wrote itself? gah I just started thinking about how cool of a vampire Enjolras would be and how he'd fight against the oppression of his people and then I looked for some fics where he was one and could legit find like, nothing, and then I was sad and then I thought, well hell, I could write it myself
> 
> so I did, despite having two series and classes and I am so sorry, guys
> 
> uh same gig with the Path to Paradise series; I'll write more on it if anybody likes it, if not it can stand alone  
> soooo if you like it please kudos or bookmark or comment or anything to let me know and if I get enough I shall keep it around and if not then vampire!Enjolras and werewolf!Grantaire will get canned (jk it'll stay up I just won't write anymore)
> 
> title comes from a Lana Turner quote, "A gentleman is simply a patient wolf."  
> p.s. I have no idea where this comes from I just found it and it reminded me of Grantaire prowling patiently around Enjolras' feet licking his chops and shit
> 
> EDIT: alright guys I'll turn this into a series because I got enough kudos and comments to justify it so woohoo but keep in mind that's it rated 3rd in my series so updates will probably not come as often as my other ones.   
> p.s. series title comes from a Spanish proverb (according to google), "Live with wolves, and you learn to howl."  
> kisses to you all!


End file.
